


First Line And Second Is The Best

by clotpolesonly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Innuendo, Lacrosse, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, that's pretty much it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-17 05:24:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13070052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clotpolesonly/pseuds/clotpolesonly
Summary: Stiles was pink-cheeked and smiling, bouncing on the balls of his feet, already huffing and puffing before the game had even started, but she couldn’t blame him for being excited. He didn’t get to play first line very often.“Just in time!” he said, swooping in to kiss her. “You got the sign? Did you make sure to put Jackson’s name first? His name’s gotta go first, you know how sensitive he is.”Allison punched him in the shoulder. “Of course I put his name first,” she said. “You think I don’t know my own boyfriends?”





	First Line And Second Is The Best

**Author's Note:**

> This is just one giant pile of fluff for Stackson Week's day 3 theme of polyamory!! Just as un-beta-ed as yesterday's entry, so beware of typos and such cuz I wrote this one in like 3 hours, lmao. I think it's fluffy enough to make up for any mistakes XD

Allison had a hell of a time getting the unwieldy and unreasonably large sign out of the backseat of her car, but she did manage to do so without injuring herself eventually. She hip-checked the door closed, blew a wayward curl out of her face with a sigh of exasperation, and booked it out of the parking lot. Luckily she was only a few minutes late, and with Coach Finstock running the show, Beacon Hills lacrosse games literally _never_ started on time.

Sure enough, the players were all still milling about the field, stretching and doing warm-up laps while the coaches and referees shouted at each other, by the time Allison made it there. She spotted her dad and Lydia halfway up the stands, holding a seat for her, and she headed that way.

Stiles met her at the bottom of the stairs. He was pink-cheeked and smiling, bouncing on the balls of his feet, already huffing and puffing before the game had even started, but she couldn’t blame him for being excited. He didn’t get to play first line very often.

“Just in time!” he said, swooping in to kiss her. “You got the sign? Did you make sure to put Jackson’s name first? His name’s gotta go first, you know how sensitive he is.”

Allison punched him in the shoulder.

“Of course I put his name first,” she said. “You think I don’t know my own boyfriends?”

“Hey, I’m just making sure!” he protested, rubbing at his arm as if she’d actually punched hard enough to hurt. “You know how he is. I, on the other hand, don’t care where my name goes, as long as it’s on there too. I’m easy.”

“You are not easy,” Allison said with a snort and a roll of her eyes. She understood her mistake a fraction of a second later when Stiles’ eyes lit up and a smirk pulled at his lips, but she too late to stop him from saying—

“Oh baby, for you? I am _so_ easy.”

Allison groaned in defeat. “Okay, I walked into that one.”

Stiles laughed, head thrown back. “You did!” he said, wiping tears from his eyes. “You really did. You can’t even be mad at me for that one, you set it up so well.”

“Don’t you have a game to play?” Allison asked.

She swatted him in the stomach with her free hand to drive him off, and then changed her mind halfway through the motion. Pulling him in by the jersey instead, she gave him another kiss, this one much more thorough than the quick one from earlier. He hummed into her mouth appreciatively.

“How am I supposed to play a game after that?” he asked as soon as she’d released him. “This is sabotage.”

Allison just kissed him again. When he gave her a questioning look, she patted his cheek and said, “That one’s for Jackson. Pass it on.”

One more light shove sent Stiles jogging back onto the field. Allison waited until Stiles had dragged Jackson out of his stretches and into a kiss that made all their teammates whoop and cheer before she finally mounted the stairs, hiding a grin in her scarf.

Her dad was watching her with a pursed-lip expression of mild disapproval, which was pretty par for the course with any of her boyfriends and not just because she had two now. At least only one of them was a werewolf this time. He knew better than to comment, so he just shuffled over to make more room on the bench for her and her enormous glittery sign that read **JACKSON AND STILES FTW** with an overlarge kissy mark drawn beneath it.

It looked like it physically pained him to be in the same universe as that sign, and honestly that was half the reason Allison had put so much glitter on it in the first place. She gave her best most convincingly sunny and innocent smile. He did not look convinced at all, but he just resigned himself to his fate and turned his attention back to the field.

“The lip print was a nice touch,” Lydia said. “And I’m sure your boys will appreciate how sparkly it is.”

A thrill went through Allison like it did every time Lydia called them that: _her boys._ A year or two ago, she never would’ve thought of herself as polyamorous, but here she was with two wonderful boyfriends and loving every second of loving both of them at once. Of course, that it was Stiles and Jackson she was dating would’ve given her pause a year ago as well. They’d snuck up on her.

She’d started dating Stiles sort of by accident. After her break up with Scott—and once Scott started dating Kira—the two of them had just ended up hanging out alone more and more often, enjoying each other’s company, until one day they’d looked up and realized they were practically _together_ in every way except the kissing and the sex. It wasn’t a huge leap to add those in.

Jackson had taken a little more effort, on both their parts. He had come back from London just before senior year started and he’d been different: calmer, humbler, more level-headed. More like the glimpses of him that Allison had seen before everything had gone to hell, the ones that had made her say yes when he’d asked her to the formal.

He was still the same old Jackson, just a little less difficult to deal with, which everyone in the pack was thankful for. Apparently hitting rock bottom after the kanima debacle—well, she didn’t want to say that it had done him _good,_ but it had certainly given him a new perspective on things.

Surprisingly enough, Stiles had fallen for him first. Or Stiles had _recognized_ it first. And it wasn’t until Stiles had pulled away, stopped inviting Jackson to hang out, tried to put some distance between them to avoid hurting her that she had realized just how strong her own feelings for him had become.

There had been a lot of conversations after that. Long, awkward, uncertain conversations between them and with Jackson that had eventually led to what they had now: a polyamorous triad where they all loved each other and everyone was happy with that. Sometimes Allison couldn’t believe how happy they were.

“My boys appreciate everything I do for them,” she told Lydia. “Sparkles included.”

“I’m sure,” Lydia said wryly. But she took up the other side of the sign anyway because she was a good and supportive friend who didn’t mind in the least that Allison was dating her ex-boyfriend.

A whistle blew down on the field and all the players scrambled to huddle up for whatever pre-game inspirational speech Finstock could come up with. Allison hoped it was the speech from _Independence Day_ again; that one always made Jackson smile, no matter how hard he tried to hide it.

The boys (and Kira) all came out of the huddle cheering and punching the air, pumped up and ready to go.

“Not a bad lineup this year,” her dad allowed. “Even with Stiles.”

Allison elbowed him in the ribs. “Stiles has gotten a lot better!” she said. “Especially with Jackson’s help. He’s pretty decent now.”

“He just looks worse in comparison because three quarters of the other players are literally superhuman,” Lydia put in helpfully.

Allison’s dad just shook his head like he couldn’t believe how he had gotten to a place in his life where that could be true, but it wasn’t heartfelt. He couldn’t hide the fondness on his face when Isaac took up his starting position, and he’d even warmed up to Scott. As much as he wanted to deny it, he loved the pack and the pack loved him. He wouldn’t come to these games at all if that wasn’t the case.

The whistle blew again and the game began.

To be completely honest, Allison still didn’t know all that much about lacrosse. Still, she followed the ball eagerly as it made its way from one pocket to the next, players racing back and forth and down the field. She knew there was some kind of strategy and formation going on—she’d been present for plenty of her boyfriends’ discussions on the matter—but she couldn’t pick out what exactly it was.

It didn’t matter though. What mattered was that when the ball made its way to Jackson and he ran it all the way down the field to launch it past the opposing team’s goalie and into the net, she was the first one on her feet, yelling and cheering and waving her glittery sign as high as she could.

Even from a distance, she could see it the moment Jackson caught sight of her. A smile split his face wide, bright and open for a minute before he could pull it back to that cocky smirk he liked to flash instead whenever he was in public. That was fine. The real smile made a comeback when Stiles tackle-hugged him from behind and planted a kiss on his cheek anyway, even if Jackson shoved him off.

Jackson made two more goals in the first quarter, each one greeted with raucous applause from the stands and followed by another of those quick, beaming smiles sent Allison’s way. Even before he’d been turned Jackson had been a fantastic lacrosse player, and that was one thing that definitely hadn’t changed during all the drama of the last two years.

And then there was Stiles.

He really had improved on the field, Jackson and Scott had made sure of it, and he’d earned his official position on this year’s first line. When he was in the zone, he could make some amazing goals and run truly brilliant plays. But when he _wasn’t_ in the zone, he was very easily distracted by things like his girlfriend in the stands with her sparkly sign. He kept stopping to wave at her or send her air-kisses, and as sweet and endearing as that was, one of these days it was going to get him hu—

The _ooh_ that rose from the crowd when Stiles ran face first into the shoulder of the other team’s midfielder and knocked himself over was almost as loud as the cheer for the last goal had been. On either side of Allison, Lydia slapped a hand to her forehead and her father muttered a curse about letting lovestruck idiots on the field, but she wasn’t listening. She was already shoving her sign down between the seats so she could force her way to the stairs.

By the time she made it to the edge of the field, Scott had already helped Stiles over to the benches and sat him down. Kira was holding out a rag and Stiles took it, pressing it to his bloody nose with a groan.

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” Stiles said thickly, flapping a hand at everyone trying to fuss over him. “I just wasn’t paying attention.”

“You were paying attention to _something,_ ” Isaac muttered with a raised eyebrow in Allison’s direction. She raised hers right back as she dropped her hands onto Stiles’ shoulders. He leaned his head back to look up at her, and she was pretty sure he was smiling behind the rag.

“Hey!” he said, dragging the syllable out way too long. “An angel come to comfort me!”

Allison sent Scott a sidelong look, fighting down a smile, and said, “Are you sure he didn’t hit his head?”

“I’m _fine!_ ” Stiles insisted again. “And this is all your fault, you know,” he added, butting his head back into Allison’s stomach. “You sitting up there being all beautiful and shit. It would’ve been a crime _not_ to stare at you! Back me up here, Scotty. You remember dating her!”

“I do remember,” Scott said obediently. Kira at his side was giggling into his shoulder. “Allison is very pretty and distracting, but Stiles, you still have to pay attention to where you’re going if you don’t want to break your face.”

“Oh my god, you didn’t seriously break your face, did you?”

Before his question was even over, Jackson, helmet in hand, was elbowing Isaac out of the way so he could drop down on the bench at Stiles’ side. He cupped Stiles’ jaw in his hands and turned him this way and that, scrutinizing the damage until Stiles whined. His attempts to push Jackson away were mostly for show though.

“It is not broken,” he said. Then he looked to Scott, suddenly worried. “It’s not, is it?”

“No, it’s not really broken,” Scott told him.

“Good,” Jackson said, patting Stiles’ cheek. “We’re gonna need this pretty face later tonight. Don’t want it too busted.”

Allison bit her lip to keep from laughing. She could practically hear the gears turning in Stiles’ head, and he did not disappoint when he asked:

“Was that supposed to be as suggestive as it sounded? Or does my mind just live in the gutter? Really, I can’t tell anymore.”

The smirk Jackson sent Allison over Stiles’ head was pure, unadulterated filth. He winked at her before tugging the rag away from Stiles’ face so he could lean in and kiss him. Allison could feel Stiles’ moan. She leaned in closer, sliding her arms down to wrap around his neck so she could prop her chin on his shoulder and get a Jackson kiss of her own once they parted.

“It’s up for interpretation,” Jackson said. “At least, it is if you help me win this game.”

Stiles gasped, loud and exaggerated.

“Extortion?” he cried. “That’s low, babe.”

Allison nipped at his earlobe and relished in the shiver she got for her trouble.

“Call it incentive,” she whispered.

“Yeah, incentive to not hurt yourself any more than you already have, you giant clumsy nerd,” Jackson said, sounding way too affectionate for the insult. “We like you intact.”

“That we do,” Allison agreed.

Stiles laid his head back on her shoulder, a dopey smile taking over his face that was only slightly undermined by the blood. He turned the same look on their boyfriend and Jackson’s cheeks, already pink from the chilly evening air, went a little more red. Somewhere in the distance, Coach was blowing the whistle and yelling for the players to get back on the field, but Stiles seemed perfectly content right where he was sandwiched between his lovers, and neither of them were inclined toward moving either.

“How did I get so lucky to have both of you?” Stiles asked, one hand on Jackson’s knee and the other finding Allison’s where it lay on his chest, tangling their fingers together.

Allison squeezed his hand back and said, “I ask myself that every single day.”

And judging by the gentle way Jackson kissed them both, he did too.


End file.
